Four days passed as Hugh contemplated the question of Penelope Crone.
When he finally did concede in his mind that he wanted to see her, to speak with her, he convinced himself that it was only so he could assure himself that her cut had not turned putrid.
The days that had passed had not been pleasant ones. His honor had required that he fulfill his commitment to escort Mrs. Merriman and Miss Radcliffe to a garden party, and then on another day walking in the park.
He’d had to step very carefully, as, on any number of occasions during these outings, he easily could have become ensnared in further commitments, and much lengthier ones as well.
His interest in Louisa Radcliffe had waned quickly. Every conversation with her was the same. They covered the weather, the latest fashions, and who attended what party when—and in that order. It was as though she followed a script. She only veered from it once when she chastised him for failing to partner her as promised at the Helmers’ ball.
Hugh did not rise to the bait.
And although he’d caught her staring a few times, she’d not asked how he’d acquired the spectacular bruises around his eyes.
With great relief, he wished them both well after escorting them safely to their rented townhouse. Mrs. Merriman and Louisa had both laid out traps that he could have easily fallen into, but they did not know him very well at all. Hugh had spent much of the last decade dodging these snares. He was no novice. How did they think he’d managed to remain unwed for as long as he had? He was considered, he admitted most humbly to himself, something of a catch. The only reason they’d extracted any commitments from him at all was because he had decided it just might be time…
Upon meeting Miss Radcliffe for the first time, he’d not been uninterested. The lady had seemed soothing, of a sweet temperament and even attractive sexually. He’d thought he merely needed to spend some time in her company. If he did that, he thought, perhaps he could fall in love with her.
Seeing Cortland and Lilly with their newborn infant son had, in fact, made his own life feel rather empty.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how he chose to look at it, Miss Louisa Redcliffe was not the person he needed to fill it.
But could any woman?
Could Penelope Crone?
He’d known her for over a decade. Well, he’d thought he’d known her. On a few occasions, he’d even found her attractive, he recalled, almost surprised at the admission. But she had never flirted with him. He’d never seen her flirt with anyone, even Darlington. He didn’t think sheknew howto flirt. Penelope scoffed at coquettish behavior. And she’d always had such high standards for conversation.
She’d required it be intelligent.
Which the gentlemen did find attractive, when they wished to understand a particular bill more coherently, or hear predictions for the cost of corn, barley, or some other commodity. She was respected for having a keen mind.
Could any of these characteristics be an attractive trait in a wife? As he entered his townhouse and handed his top hat over to the butler, Hugh knew the answer to that question.
He could discuss fashion, gossip, and parties with his wife for the rest of his life, or he could discuss virtually anything else under the sun.
Therewassomething different about her. Aside from the mystery of her fainting spells and her showing up, uninvited and unannounced, at Augusta Heights, a subtle femininity had blossomed in her.
It was as though she’d finally admitted to herself that she was a woman.
And she looked athimdifferently now.
By Jove, that was it! She looked at him as though they shared an intimate secret. How did she learn such a thing? Was she hoping to land him for a husband? Was she, in fact, conniving to do so?
And even more importantly, was he willing to be landed?
He’d almost proposed marriage to her last night. He’d been very, very close.
Hugh dabbed at his nose and winced.Note to self: do not make jokes to Penelope the next time you propose to her.Because he would. Not quite yet, but he would. It just felt right. And somehow, a voice in his head whispered, it might be the best decision of his life.
* * *
Rose finished tying the lace at the bottom of Penelope’s stays and sighed. “I cannot believe he has failed to call upon you. Are you certain he remains in Town?”
“Lady Hawthorne said he was at the garden party she attended yesterday.” With a sideways glance, she added, “With Miss Radcliffe and her aunt. You don’t think he could seriously be courting her?”
“I didn’t—before. His absence, however, concerns me and it ought to concern you as well. If he is not in attendance tonight, you are going to have to seek him out intentionally.”
Penelope had told Rose everything—the pertinent details, anyhow. She’d revealed that Danbury had kissed her. She had not mentioned how many times, nor the… other things he’d done. Knowing Rose, however, Penelope assumed her maid would fill in the blanks.
